


proverbial tranquility

by GalaxyGhosty



Series: The Quiet Place [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Nonverbal Communication, Slice of Life, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 01:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15697440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: AU. Dark…doesn’t talk.





	proverbial tranquility

**Author's Note:**

> A soft little story that I had way too much fun writing. This was written in response to a request I received for the prompts "cooking together" and "slow dancing." I ended up loving this piece a lot more than I was expecting, so I wanted to share it here!
> 
> I may expand on it sometime soon, with other little drabbles in the verse, from the first meeting to other nonsensical stuff like that. Let me know if that's something anyone would like to read! 
> 
> I'm also working on a new long one-shot so here's hoping that'll be out sometime soon. I had to do a rewrite of the second part of _where the water goes to die_ but hopefully I'll be able to sit down and work on it for once. 
> 
> Thanks so much for hanging out. Onto the fic!

Dark…doesn’t talk.

And that’s really not a new thing. But a general thing that Jack’s always known. He says maybe two words in response to anything he asks–three if he’s feeling generous. Whenever he does speak, his voice is a low rumble, perhaps from disuse, or it’s just the way he speaks. Either way, Jack comfortable when Dark’s silent. He wouldn’t know what to do if he wasn’t.  


They’d gotten together so…softly. It had just happened one day. Flirting eyes and barely ghosted smiles. Warm hands, insistent, needy. The thing about Dark is that he never talks but his eyes speak for him, an endless swirl of untold stories and mysteries that Jack wants to spend his entire life cracking the code to. So it hadn’t taken much for Jack to be enraptured, following after Dark’s half-lidded gaze and proverbial, languid touches. Jack talks enough for the both of them, anyhow. Narrates everything in a little story, poems only Dark will hear, and Dark replies with kisses to his lips, bites on his neck, his shoulders. 

Yeah, Jack talks enough for the both of them. He’s always been a loudmouth like that. But Dark never seems to mind, following the movement of his lips, as though immortalizing it, or perhaps he’s just thinking of what else his lips could do. 

(A lot of things.) 

The one thing Dark will often say is his name. The singular syllable. Jack. It always rolls off his tongue like honeysuckle–hard to find, but deliciously sweet. He says it in every way he can, encompassing a bouquet of varying emotions–when he’s pleased with him, when he’s irritated, when he’s falling apart under Jack’s tongue. If Dark said nothing else but his name for the rest of his life, Jack would never get tired of it. 

Moving in together had been relatively the same. One day, Jack had rolled out of Dark’s bed, half asleep and called by the smell of breakfast being made. When he’d sat down at Dark’s kitchen table, there had been a key. 

Followed shortly thereafter by one of Dark’s expressive, pointed looks. Jack had laughed, sliding the key onto his key ring.  
He began moving his stuff over the next day. 

So, yeah. Jack’s good with Dark not talking. His friends complain about it a lot. That Dark is hiding something, or that they’re not communicating and their lives are going to go to shit. But they communicate all the time–more than most couples do–just not in the way people would expect. 

He’s halfway through making dinner when Dark gets home. He’s sitting on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth like he’s in fifth grade, waiting on the timer to go off so he can continue. Dark drapes his suit jacket on the back of the kitchen chair, rolling his sleeves up, wordlessly moving into the room to pick up wherever Jack left off. The vegetables on the counter that Jack hadn’t quite gotten to is on the itinerary tonight. 

They move in tandem like that for a bit. Jack sets a pan onto the stove with a dash of oil, waving his hand so that Dark can do with it as he pleases. He’s very particular about the way that vegetables are cooked. 

Before they go in the pan, though, Dark touches him gently at the waist, a silent request for his attention. Jack turns to him, and Dark pulls him away from the counter’s edge, lacing their fingers together. He presses a soft kiss to his lips, warm, inviting. That hand remains at his waist, and a tilt of his head encourages Jack to follow the gesture.  


Wordlessly, Jack puts a hand on Dark’s shoulder. That private smile reverberates back to him, as Dark leads him into…a dance. 

The kitchen isn’t small, but it’s not large enough for two grown men to be trouncing around. Still, it’s fun, as Dark swirls him around, dipping him. He says nothing, still, but the contact tells him everything. _Hi, I missed you. I love you. I love you_. Over and over. 

Jack’s socked feet slide on the smooth tile, and his companion only barely catches him. There’s a moment of tenseness, Jack’s head centimeters from the floor, before long they’re both…laughing.

How could anyone think that they don’t communicate, when Jack has never felt more loved?

His impromptu dance ends as Dark pulls him up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes with an elegant touch. Jack leans forward and kisses him again, speaking in Dark’s language of nothing, and everything. It lingers, Dark raising a hand to cup his cheek, before breaking away. 

Another smile. Then, Dark steps away, loosening his tie, tilting his head again in that familiar gesture. Jack nods, and Dark turns away, stalling by the counter before exiting the kitchen.  


Jack turns back to the oven, but not before…something glimmers at the corner of his eye. 

Stepping closer to inspect, he sucks in a slow, even breath. 

A ring, ornate and silver. It doesn’t pop, not like a typical ring would, but it sings to him, like a melody only he can hear.  


He picks it up, swallowing. He turns to the doorway, clenching it in his fingers, promising himself he won’t, he absolutely won’t start crying. At least, not until dinner’s done. 

Jack slides the ring on his finger, fitting perfectly. Dark’s soft footsteps, sure and confident, return moments later.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me over at voidskelly.tumblr.com! I really love hearing from you guys :)


End file.
